


Yes, you do have to propose before you can call someone your husband.

by IceBreeze



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: (sorry Alby), (you got reckt), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe- Everybody Lives/Almost Nobody Dies, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, M/M, but here i am, i didn't think being able to type out the fandom/character tags would bring such joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 12:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceBreeze/pseuds/IceBreeze
Summary: “If this is what they call an apocalypse then I would be interested to know exactly what they’d call a catastrophe. Stubbing their toe? Running out of butter?” Minho said,. It was the first thing any of them had said since they’d been ushered onto the plane, and it was a statement all the Gladers shared. Sure, the world sprawled below them wasn’t what anyone would call decadent, but it wasn’t ‘end of life as we know it so let’s experiment on hundreds of kids and invent monsters that look like someone merged a shrivelled penis with spider monsters’ kind of disaster. Heck, it wasn’t even ‘let’s create a secret shady organization’ kind of disaster.If they didn’t know better they’d think someone was taking the piss with this whole thing, but that’d be an absolutely awful joke on so many levels, so it had to be true somehow.“I don’t know, man,” Frypan said, “Maybe they were all really scared of sand? That’d make this a worst case scenario on all levels. It’s kind of everywhere, after all.”After two years, the Gladers leave the maze, they find a very different world and very different problems. Namely that Janson wants a piece of Thomas' ass.





	Yes, you do have to propose before you can call someone your husband.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this all started because when Janson said 'I only have one question for you' in the scorch trials i thought he was about to propose and i recieved some enablement from the lovely person who got me watching the trilogy in the first place, so here you go. My first contribution to the fandom is a bunch of shenanigans. I hope you enjoy it!

If you were to ask Thomas how long he was in the maze, he would answer with the same kind of confusion you'd expect from a stream of ?????????????????.

If you were to ask Minho, he would laugh in your face and walk away.

If you were to ask Newt, he would tell you that it had been two years, one month and twenty three days.

Now you might be thinking ‘this makes no sense,’ and that’s because it probably doesn’t. After all there’s no real logical reason to keep an experiment going for so long, no matter how much they might want to examine their top subjects. You might think this is the author pulling bullshit out of their ass just so they can shift timelines to something convenient for the plot they have in mind, and- well. Okay. You’re not wrong exactly, but that isn’t the point.

The point is that there was no logical reason why WCKD left the experiment going for so long. They simply forgot about it. After sending in The Betrayer the plan had been to up the Griever’s aggressiveness in order to drive the subjects to find the escape and continue to Phase 2, but then something unexpected had happened- something that changed everything.

They found the cure. It was what they had dedicated years to searching for and suddenly it was in their hands, the end of the world finally a thing they could stop.

They could save everyone. And they did- bad blood between factions fell apart in the face of it and suddenly the Right Arm and WCKD and the maze runners were all working together, making the world into a place they could live in once more. Making it into a place you could call home rather than a wasteland driven to the brink of destruction.

So needless to say, WCKD got busy- busy enough that they kind of forgot about Group A, the boys not even close to touching their priority list. In some ways this was a good thing- no more grievers and the maze no longer trying to actively kill them meant it was much easier to survive in the Glade. In other ways, not so much. It was a miracle they managed to last as long as they did in the Glade without supplies being sent to them any more, a miracle so many of them survived.

“The miracle group,” researchers would say, just over two years later when they finally had that ‘oh shit moment’ of realizing just how badly they fucked up.

“Thanks, miracle man,” Chuck had said once, so tired that he was barely keeping his eyes open. It was around when Thomas led them out of the maze and into the world beyond, his perseverance the glue that bound the group together. That got them out when the Glade couldn’t help them any more.

That saved them where WCKD could only fail.

(They did it all themselves in the end. Group A were the most self-sufficient Group, surivivalists to their core despite the fact they had maybe two and half braincells between them, but WCKD still found them in the end. WCKD could always find them thanks to the chips in their necks and the hundreds of eyes they had in the world. In a different story this would have been the downfall of Group A- what led them through trial after trial after trial, loss after loss after loss until they reached the end of the road with more scars than they had not.

In a different story, WCKD would hurt until there was nothing left to hurt. But this is not that story. In this story, WCKD try to right their wrongs as best as they can and this means ensuring their many victims are given back the lives they lost. It means returning memories and removing chips and giving them homes and everything they might need, giving and giving until it could even approach how much they took. It means making amends for things that shouldn’t necessarily be forgiven.

In this story, when WCKD finds Group A they offer their hand to help and in this story, Group A take it).

“If this is what they call an apocalypse then I would be interested to know exactly what they’d call a catastrophe. Stubbing their toe? Running out of butter?” Minho said, face pressed against the window as if the added proximity meant he might catch something he’d otherwise miss. It was the first thing any of them had said since they’d been ushered onto the plane, and it was a statement all the Gladers shared. Sure, the world sprawled below them wasn’t what anyone would call decadent, but it wasn’t ‘end of life as we know it so let’s experiment on hundreds of kids and invent monsters that look like someone merged a shrivelled penis with spider monsters’ kind of disaster. Heck, it wasn’t even ‘let’s create a secret shady organization’ kind of disaster.

If they didn’t know better they’d think someone was taking the piss with this whole thing, but that’d be an absolutely awful joke on so many levels, so it had to be true somehow.

“I don’t know, man,” Frypan said, “Maybe they were all really scared of sand? That’d make this a worst case scenario on all levels. It’s kind of everywhere, after all.”

A handful of them snorted at that, and the sound drew the attention of one of the adults in the plane with them. She looked a bit sheepish, which was a strange emotion to see on someone who was most likely involved in keeping them under lock and key, but maybe getting older meant you felt emotions differently. Thomas certainly wouldn’t know- he was only nineteen, after all. Or eighteen. Or- something.

He was something for sure, and whatever that something was it certainly wasn’t what could be considered a grown ass adult.

(Or maybe they did- there was no good frame of reference just lying around, after all. He definitely didn’t feel like a kid, but someone who had spent their life like he had wouldn’t exactly be inclined to bouts of uwu babyness in the first place).

“Sorry,” the woman said. “Head of security will explain more when you arrive on base, but basically one of the other Groups led to us finding the cure two years ago and then you lot kind of slipped under the radar until a few weeks ago. So yeah that was our bad, but on the bright side you won’t need to be harvested for your blood or anything squicky like that.”

There was silence because that’s really the only way you can process such a confusing declaration. It was a silence that continued for so long the woman shoved her helmet on, as if it would shield her from the tension of a bunch of human experiments discovering that all the bullshit they went through was amounted to nothing.

Then Newt said, “Well I guess you were our lucky charm after all, Tommy. I rather like my blood staying inside my body,” knocking his shoulder against Thomas to emphasise the statement, and Gally murmured a very long, very appropriate “gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay” and the situation kind of devolved in to the kind of hysteric relief of people who’d just spent so damn long thinking they were gonna die they’d forgotten what breathing felt like. Even Teresa was smiling and normally she was so deep in emo land it was easy to forget she could do otherwise.

Of course, then they landed. Everything kind of went downhill from there like a penguin slathered in oil and placed on a frozen stream, but at least they had a good time while it lasted.

The head of security was a man named Janson and he was a man many of the Gladers would have probably been happier never meeting. Granted, there are a lot of people like this, but many of those people are dead or only appear in a story that is decidedly not this one. (Or the author can’t remember their names and thus pretends they don’t exist, which lets be real, that’s the more likely option).

So yeah. Janson. A rat man who even people with a minus five in perception would be able to know is a creep after one singular glance. Heck, you didn’t even need to be able to see- the man just exuded it like a body odour that no amount of cologne could ever cover up, making it really obvious to everyone fifteen hundred feet that this was a person who really, really, really needed to have his dick cut off.

(Or who really needed to be pegged, but that’s another story).

Which means it is highly understandable that Thomas’ immediate reaction to Janson opening his mouth and letting the creepy flow free is to back the fuck up. Like sure, Thomas is not what anyone would call a paragon of virtue (the exact term usually applied is ‘a reckless little shit,’ usually with the affection that can only come from narrowly escaping death together), and he would be the first to admit that he can be a patented dumbass who rarely uses the braincell, but he is a good judge of character. Almost intuitively so, to the point that if someone makes him do the >:/ face at first glance, people take it as seriously as they might take a bullet.

(They learnt that the hard way after they’d finally escaped the Maze and barely managed to survive the ensuing betrayal by someone Thomas had >:/-ed at).

Unfortunately, this time they seemed to have forgotten about this fact, so when Thomas backs right into Newt, Newt does not do the helpful thing and let Thomas sidle right on out of there. No, Newt does the exact opposite of help his boyfriend and instead makes the situation worse by saying “Rude Tommy, rude,” drawing Janson’s attention from Teresa (the designated spoke person because of the simple fact that she’s the only one who can actually act) to Thomas.

And naturally, because Thomas’ life was a shit show and he would really like a refund, something lights up in Janson’s eyes. It’s not a nice light, unless you happen to be a big fan of the glint that you get from staring down the barrel of a gun, in which case it’s beautiful, a masterpiece, eleven out of ten, would recommend. Thomas does not understand what this sudden change means, and he isn’t sure he wants to, which obviously means it’s going to be revealed in great deal because that’s just how the story goes Tommy old boy.

It’d be boring otherwise, and there’s really nothing worse than a boring story. Except for nine am classes, those are the ultimate evil to top all evils.

“Ah, Thomas! I just have one question to ask you,” Janson said, smiling sleazily, like a sleazy, and he stepped forward like the movement version of a lenny face. Thomas would have backed up more because ewww, but sadly Newt, Minho and Frypan were all in the way.

_Top ten anime betrayals_, Thomas thought. This might be surprising to some people, but he actually is capable of thought sometimes, it’s just a coin toss as to whether or not he’ll bother. There’s a reason he’s called a high functioning dumbass rather than a dumb dumb to beat all dumb dumbs.

“What is it?”

Janson smiled wider and Thomas really wished that he still had his weapons. Of course, he might have just used them on himself, because the next words out of Janson’s mouth were, “Will you marry me, Thomas?”

…um?

“What?”

“Surely you know what marriage is?” Janson stepped closer once more and he pulled out- was that a ring? That was a ring, wasn’t it? Dear Gods, if this was a dream then Thomas hoped he could wake up very quickly. Unfortunately all he gets is a fic writer, so sucks to be him.

(“What the fuck,” Minho mouthed to Newt. Newt shrugged back. It was a fruitful interaction if you counted diarrhea as fruits, but not many people do).

“I know what marriage is, I just don’t understand why you’re-“ he made a face, as if the next word was physically painful to him, “proposing.”

Thomas didn’t understand a lot of things about this, really. He’d been confused since the moment he woke up in the maze two years back and his confusion only kept growing as things progressed. At this point he was more ????????????? than anything else, but there really wasn’t much he could do about it. Everything was expected to be fast in this world- from running to thinking to shitting, if you weren’t channelling your inner Sonic the whole time then chances are you’re about to die or are already dead and just don’t know it yet.

(The only time he ever got to go slow was in the big gap between the Grievers vanishing and them finally having no choice but to escape the maze. It’d been a nice time, probably the closest they’d ever get to peace, and Thomas missed it more than he’d ever said.

And this is coming from a dude who can’t sit still for more than five minutes, so yeah. It’s saying a lot).

“Because I think that together we could make something great.” Janson leaned in closer, making the kind of movements that implied either he was about to whisper in Thomas’ ear or go for a kiss, both of which were something Thomas really didn’t need in his life. Thankfully, he would never have to find out which it was because Minho and Newt both yanked him behind them whilst Teresa shoved Janson back a bit, forming a protective triangle.

(“The protect Thomas squad,” Gally had said, once, rolling his eyes at them. It was probably the only time he ever used Thomas’ real name).

“Thomas doesn’t appreciate your advances,” Teresa said, with the kind of weaponized politeness only she can pull off. Janson had a good foot on her and she was as much of a twink as Thomas was (or twunk, depending on your perspective), but she still managed to loom in such a way that one guard stepped back, gun lowering with a sound that might have been a whimper. “He’s not available for someone like you and this interaction would be more pleasant for everyone if you could just fucking stop.”

“Oh? And why should I stop?” Janson tilted his head to the side still smiling, still creepy, still sadly not dead. “What exactly is the reason he can’t marry me, hm? Is there something that makes my advances out of line? Tell me, come on- I’m intrigued.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Minho said, at the exact time on the exact same breath as Newt said, “He’s my husband.”

All it took was an instant, in the end. This one tiny moment and suddenly the shit on the ceiling was turning into a mutant monster ready to vore someone. It was a clusterfuck most aptly described by Frypan’s very quiet, very horrified, “Someone’s done an oopsy doodle.”

Because this is the truth as eighty percent of people here know it: only one of these statements is true and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out which. The relationship between the trio that had formed a core pillar of the Glader’s was not exactly a secret, no matter how much they may have tried to keep it one at first. It’s kind of hard to keep things on the downlow when you’re part of a small community of people just barely beginning to edge their way out of puberty who are stuck in what is essentially an elaborate rat trap for years because the evil scientists behind the whole thing forgot you existed.

So the boyfriend part? Not exactly a surprise at this point. Everyone knew, everyone had walked in on them at inopportune times, and there’d been enough relentless teasing that even the dead probably knew it. (And there was a lot of dead, so that’s saying something).

Husband, on the other hand? Ha, no. Not a chance in Hell.

The one to break the silence was Chuck, his voice pitched high enough it sounded like jigglypuff that had been using a helium balloon like an inhaler. It was impressive really, considering that he was smack bang in the middle of his voice breaking. “Wait, husband? When did you guys get married? Thomas, you didn’t tell me you got married! I thought we were brothers!”

Thomas could not answer this question, as he had not been aware of such a marriage in the first place. His face was somehow managing to do a balancing act between blanching and blushing. He was probably the only person in the world who could pull it off and even then it was only barely.

(Apparently there was one use of all the adrenaline just constantly circulating through him and that’s that it makes him what could be considered a pretty boy from certain angles).

The culprits of all this confusion both had a look that was universally recognizable and it was one that people everywhere could appreciate. It was the ‘we had one job and we blew it’ look, aka the biggest mood to ever mood. Not that relatability was going to save them, because that’s not how life works. Or is it? 

…don’t ask me. I’m just the author, and if I had the secrets to life and the universe and all that jazz then I probably wouldn’t be spending all my time on fanfic. Or I’d be spending more of my time on fanfic in order to dodge the heavy weight that comes with such enlightenment. But anyway, that’s neither here nor there. The point is, Minho and Newt had fucked up and they were exchanging the frantic non verbal communication that they were so fond of.

(“Roll with it,” Newt’s eyes said.

“You’re crazy and so is this but fine,” Minho’s eyes said.

Thomas was not part of this communication because his eyes currently held nothing beyond the indistinct screaming of one who had looked despair in the face and knew it needed to wash its hair).

“Babe,” Minho said. “Babe please, we talked about this. You have to propose to someone before you can call them your husband- you can’t just skip steps like this.”

Newt blinked like he was an innocent angel baby (UwU? UwU!) who had just made a simple mistake and not someone who had been waiting for this opportunity for many months. “Oh right. Oopsy doodle?”

“You dumb shank,” but it was said fondly.

“Bloody hell- I’ll fix it! Just you watch!” And to his credit, Newt did technically fix it. Nobody could deny that, not even Janson, who had been watching this all unfold with the annoyance of someone who’d just been told that the teddy bear they’d been wanting to buy for weeks was no longer in stock. It’s just that the ‘Newt touch’ in this particular case was likely bad for Thomas’ blood pressure (that shade of red couldn’t be healthy), and very confusing for everyone else who had no idea what this clusterfuck was, only that it was happening.

The fix unfolded like this:

Newt got down on one knee. Thomas let out of a hoarse noise that could either be considered a whimper of the throes of a dying seal depending on your general view on things. Minho squeezed Thomas’ arm where his hand had never moved from, doing his best to be reassuring in a situation that was probably just making Thomas want to nyoom into a blizzard and never be seen again.

Newt did not pull out a ring, because rings were beyond what they could have made in the maze and the author does have some standards. He did, however, take Thomas’ hand in two of his and say, “Tommy, love, we’ve been meaning to do this for a while but-” a breath that shook ever so slightly ”-will you marry us?”

And there was really only one answer Thomas could give to that, clusterfuck or not.

(“Huh,” Janson had said, eyebrows furrowed so far down it looked like they were shooting for a career change by replacing his sorry excuse for eyelashes. He looked constipated, but the mental kind of constipation, like he’d been very certain a thing was going to happen one way and then it didn’t and now he doesn’t really know what to do. Or he could just need to shit- it’s a toss up, really. A really, really weird coin toss. “Okay. Okay yeah, that’s fair. I can’t really argue with that reason.” He sighed, mournfully, looking Thomas up and down as if he were eying up a particularly delicious snack he’ll never be able to try. “Shame, such a darn shame. I thought we had something special, Thomas.”

“We met like an hour ago?”

“Yeah.” Janson sighed again. His lungs must be super strong if he always gives them this kind of workout. “It was a really good hour. Anyway, enjoy your stay here. Doctor Ava will be down in a few days and she’ll want to check you all over. She’s very invested in you, Thomas.”

And with that disturbing titbit from a disturbing man, they were ushered away).

“Did you really just propose to get rid of a creep?” Thomas asked later, when they’d all been taken to their rooms. They were really nice rooms, far nicer than any of them could have ever expected, and for once the bed was big enough for all three of them to fit on without any risk of gravity claiming another victim. Thomas might have been able to appreciate it more if he wasn’t still reeling over the fact that apparently he was engaged now.

(Apparently? Apparently).

Maybe this was all a dream, he thought. Maybe it was some really, really weird dream and he was going to wake up in the Glade again to find that the past month and a bit were all just another hallucination.

“Not only!” was Newt’s only mildly soothing response. The mildly because that was a very public proposal and Thomas is reeling and oh shit how long have they been planning this, was Minho in on it, what the fuck- “We’d been planning on proposing for a while now but never really found the right time what with how things started to fall apart, and then that bugger was trying to scoop you up and I- well. I panicked?”

Minho was sprawled out over the two of them, careful not to jog Newt’s bad leg no matter how hard he may laugh. It didn’t look very comfortable but still- Minho was used to being uncomfortable and sometimes a little discomfort was worth it. He was laughing right now, the kind of belly-deep guffaws that made breathing a chore and left you shaking like a particularly amused leaf.

“Husband,” he wheezed, _“You said husband!”_

“Twat.” Newt was smiling even as he rolled his eyes, grabbing Minho’s hand at the same time he grabbed Thomas’ hand, and soon they were a rather awkwardly shaped human pretzel, wrapped up in the bubble of companionship that was one of their only constants in a world that never learnt how to fucking chill.

Thomas tapped his feet, unable to sit still even now. “So are we really doing this? Getting married?”

“Hell yeah we are.” Minho squeezed both their hands tighter, grinning so wide it looked like his teeth might grow legs and make a run for it. “There’s no pair I’d rather spend the rest of my life with than you two chucklefucks.”

“I didn’t get on one knee for nothing, Tommy, come on- what do you take me for?”

“A twat,” Thomas replied, but the brightness of his smile was amped up to eleven before the knob was broken clean off so yeah. It was a thing to celebrate.

(Teresa stuck her hand out at Frypan, eyebrows raised in the patented ‘give me my money bitch.’ Except not money because they didn’t have any of that. He raised his own hands in surrender.

“I have nothing, please have mercy- I can’t give you anything.”

“That wasn’t the bet. Give me my snacks.”

“We made that bet in the Glade. We’re not in the Glade anymore and I’m not head slicer.”

Teresa frowned, conceding the point by lowering her hand. “Fine. Then instead of that you owe me a favour I can pull up on at any given time.”

“Fair, fair, as long as I have the right to refuse doing things that make me uncomfy.”

“Yes, obviously- I’m not a dick.”

“You’re not? Could have fooled me.” He answer was to stamp on his foot with more force than you’d think she was capable of and he yelped, bending down to grab at it like she’d stabbed him. “Cruelty! Animal Cruelty! How could you?”

The sound of her laughter was the only response she gave and it was a nice sound- not that he’d ever admit it).

When they met the boss there was no sign of Rat Man, which was a relief on so many levels that if we were to try and describe all of them this story would be a heck of a lot longer than it currently is. Considering it is already far, far longer than was planned, that just wouldn’t do. So Rat Man has fucked off to who knows where, forever to nurse the wounds to the mouldy husk he calls a heart, and Thomas reunites with the woman in charge of Wicked.

Thomas’ memories may be returning slower than a person who just spent eight weeks in the desert with barely enough water to survive can piss, but Dr. Ava Paige was familiar in a way that nothing else was. Familiar in a way that wasn’t good- memories of tests, of conditioning, of that final day before he was thrown into the maze after having leaked all the data he could. Day after day after day of hardships, watching his friends dwindle one by one all whilst she held his shoulder.

“Wicked is good,” she’d say, a mantra, a curse, the words that haunt his dreams and his waking hours alike. “Wicked is good.”

She doesn’t say it now, which is… good. Thomas doesn’t know what he’d have done if she had. As it is she simply smiles, looking more like a put together lady than the hard faced doctor who would send children to their deaths for some fucked up Greater Good. “Hello again, Thomas. I’m glad to see you’re still alive.”

“No thanks to you.”

She sighed. “I don’t think it’ll help but I am sorry that we did what we had to.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t help. Now get to the point- why are we here?”

She sighed, again, looking sad. The author can relate to that, as I am sad that I have to write this interaction when the fic was already supposed to be over. “I wanted to confirm your plans. Is Janson correct in informing me that Group A intends to join the new settlement that is being built by the survivors of Group B and the Right Arm?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Good.” Her fingers tapped on the desk in a rhythm only she knows. “Once all your test results have come in clear and we remove the swipe from those who want their memories back we’ll arrange for transport. Mary is looking forward to seeing you again. Do you remember Mary?”

Thomas did remember Mary, but he kept stoic, as if he were the cool jerk romance option in a particularly tacky romance novel. Dr. Paige seemed unsurprised at this response which- well. Considering she had known Thomas quite well up until just over two years ago, it’s probable that she was used to some of his general Thomasness.

(It’s only some because having your memories wiped and getting thrust into a life or death experiment without knowing that it’s an experiment can change people a lot. Like, _a lot_ a lot.

Finding a family helped too, but it was one of the less life and death factors in the Thomas that stands here now, so we’ll leave that to the side).

Another sigh, followed by a glance at the tablet open in front of her. “Janson also mentioned the three of you were engaged. Was this also accurate?”

Minho sighed, dreamily, in such a way that it was obvious even to strangers who failed their perception check that he was exaggerating. “Ahhhhhh, love. The true key to our happiness.”

Newt snorted and grabbed Thomas’ hand in his, lacing their fingers together as a clear answer. Never one to be outdone, Minho put a hand on Thomas’ butt, squeezing once because he could. Thomas’ face was so red it looked like he was five seconds away from combustion whilst Newt just looked exasperated.

“Really?” Newt asked. “_Really_, you dumb Hoe_?”_

“What?” Minho fluttered his eyelashes, the picture of innocence. “You can’t tell me you don’t want a piece of this ass.”

“Okay fair, it is a great ass.”

“I hate both of you,” Thomas said, lyingly, like a liar.

Dr. Paige looked like she wasn’t sure what to feel so she’d settled on compartmentalising it to deal with later, in private. With a bottle of whiskey or two, probably. Her smile was a little more than a business smile, a little less than a genuine smile, and a hundred percent less creepy than Janson could ever manage, so good for her. “Congratulations. I’ll be sure to inform Mary and Vincent so they’re able to prepare appropriately. A wedding is a joyous occasion, after all, and the beach is an opportune place for it.”

And that, as they say, was that. They left her office without anything else of note happening and then four days later they were all heading towards their new home, WCKD left far, far behind them, like an old nightmare still held captive in that dreamcatcher you’d shoved into the skip. The story is drawing to its close thousands of words after it was meant to and there’s nothing like a cliché to finish it all off, so here we go:

That, as they say, was that.

(“And do you, Thomas, take these two to be your lawfully wedded husbands?”

“I do,” Thomas said. “A thousand times over, in every world, in every life, _I do.”_

Three hearts joined as one, three lives bound together by two words, and their vows were ones that were as unbreakable as their wills. It was the first wedding the Gladers ever attended and they would all agree, now and forevermore, that it was the most beautiful they have ever seen).

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [@polyhymina.](http://polyhymina.tumblr.com/%22%22)
> 
> My twitter is[@littlemisswrit3.](https://mobile.twitter.com/littlemisswrit3)


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